Sister of War
by Delicross
Summary: Named after a Goddess of war Enyo puts her namesake to the test when she's thrust into the battle between Drifters and Ends. Her sanity, morals and values will be challenged as she struggles to cope with the harsh reality of a war she was never trained for.


**Author's Note:**

 _I do not own any of the Drifters characters. Enyo, Issac, and Isabella are fictional characters. Any resemblance to people either living or dead are strictly coincidental. This story is a work of fan art._

In the dusky evening light I drag a hand over my face smearing soot across tired features. A long day spent welding meant not only was I tired, but I was dirty. Pushing open the front door to my family house I'm greeted with the scent of grilled cheese and tomato soup. From upstairs I can hear the shower going as one of my younger siblings gets their shower out of the way. Of course in normal teenage fashion the living room lights are on, the TV is on, the hall/stairway lights are on and so are the kitchen/dining room lights. I kick my boots off at the door leaving them next to the pile of shoes that make up the entrance way. Heavy wool socks muffle my steps as I go around flipping switches and turning lights off. A quick glance around the living room reveals that the remote isn't here. I sigh and leave it as a commercial for some fast food chain starts up.

I make my way into the dining room/ kitchen to find my younger brother, Issac, doing his homework. From a quick glance I'm not sure what subject he's studying, but the dining room table is littered with text books and notebooks. The biggest of the books is under his nose. Going to the sink I turn on the faucet and let it run. I wanted cold water damn it. Filling a glass with the cold liquid my next order of business was pestering my little brother, Issac.

I plop down in the kitchen chair next to my brother. Dates, pictures, graphs and paragraphs are spattered through the white pages of the book he has under his nose. None of them look very interesting. "What are you studying?" I ask softly as I lift the glass to my lips inspecting the younger sibling. His curly hair was cropped close to his head in a fade and the ears he had yet to grow into fully stuck out from the sides of his head like radar dishes. Of course Issac doesn't answer me. I lean over and fiddle with his ear. The noise of pure indignation that comes out of the 15 year old is nothing short of pure gold. "Stop," he swats at my hand pulling his head out of my reach. "Well, I had to check to see if you'd heard me." Issac rolls his eyes at me and touches his radar dish ear as if making sure the delicate equipment wasn't damaged. "I'm studying the Korean war. I have to write an essay on it."

"Didn't we lose that war?"

"We technically didn't go to REAL war since it was declared a 'policing' thing by president what's his face." The amount of enthusiasm he had in his voice for this project wouldn't have won him any trophies for acting. I reach over taking the book from him, the thing weighed a ton. Blah blah blah June 1950 to July of 1953 North Korea invaded South Korea. The US got pissy and supported South Korea along with the backing of the UN. China with the help of the Soviet Union assisted North Korea in battle. Things came to a draw and that's why we have the Demilitarized zone between North and South Korea which are technically still at war due to never signing a peace treaty. I roll my eyes and hand the book back to Issac. "Booooring."

"I know. But it's due and you know how much of a hard-ass Dad is about grades." The teenager props his head up with a hand while he flips through some of the pages with the other.

"Yeah, I know." I reply remembering how many times I butted heads with our father over grades. "Good luck with your essay. If you need help lemme know and I'll help." I pat Issac on the shoulder before getting to my feet. I was still covered in iron shavings and soot from work and needed to shower before I tracked it across the house or the stench of B.O. became a permanent aspect of these clothes.

Later that night after I'd had my dinner and sent my younger siblings to bed, I lay in my bed staring up at the ceiling. Posters littered the room's walls giving the shadows odd textures and shapes. Master Chief looked more imposing in the darkness than I would like to admit. The images of video game characters were sprinkled with motivational posters and posters of people I looked up to such as Ronda Rousey or Vin Diesel and The Rock. I closed my eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. I should go to sleep, I had work in the morning, but my body was restless. Was my ten hour shift spent wielding fire and iron like some kind of god not enough to wear me out anymore? I grimace as I roll over to my stomach. My cellphone goes off vibrating across the bedside table like it's possessed. The screen soon bathes the darkness with dim blue light. A picture of my little brother flashes across the screen informing me he's the one calling. Why the hell would Issac be calling me? We lived in the SAME house. Grumpily I snatch the phone up from the bedside table and swipe the screen to answer the call.  
"Enyo! You answered! Thank God!" Issac's voice sounded panicked and breathless. The blare of a car horn and screeching tires violated my ears. Where the hell was he? I feel my heart twist in my chest as fear sinks its cold fingers into me. "Where are you? What's going on?"

Noises that sounded like he was running came through my phone before he answered me. "I… I snuck out of the house. I wanted… I was… I was… I was gonna run an errand with my friend, but something went wrong. People are after us. They have guns." Son of a bitch. I dart out of my bed and start throwing on the clothes closest to me. Black Carhartts, sports bra, T shirt, all of them stained and scarred from my job. I snatch up my tomahawk like it's really going to help me against people with guns or something. Dad wasn't home tonight; he was working overnight at the base. He wouldn't answer his phone either if I called him. Could I call the cops? They'd answer, but without knowing my brother's location they were basically useless. "Issac, where are you? I'm coming to get you and I need to know where you are." There is a loud popping noise causing my heart to feel like it's stopping. "ISSAC." I hiss into the phone before I hear a soft whimper. "Issac, where are you?" My tone mimics the harsh bark our father was known to use on us and his underlings in the Army. "I'm… I'm… near the docks." His whisper sounds terrified. "I'm coming to get you. Hide and stay out of their line of sight. If the call drops turn your phone ringer off so it doesn't give you away." I hear some kind of noise that sounds like 'okay' before I snag my jacket.

I open my door pulling up short to a halt in the face of my younger sister. She was the twin to Issac and looked similar to myself. Thick curly hair cascaded down her back in black waves and her brown eyes peered at me worriedly. "Issac isn't in his room." Her voice is soft, but cracks as her features twist with a grimace of worry. Issac and Izzy told each other everything, some kind of weird twin connection they had.

"I know. I'm going to get him." I force a smile on my face for her sake. Isabella was such a gentle girl; she cared and worried so much about her reckless siblings. Eventually me and Issac were going to give her an ulcer or something. "I'll be back in a little bit. Then we can scold him together when he's safe."

Isabella's eyes scan my body and she sees the Tomahawk at my side. She suddenly throws her arms around me. "I'm sorry, Enyo. I'm sorry I didn't tell you what Issac was up to earlier! Now the gangs are going to be mad at him." Her tears were hot against my shirt and I grunt with the force of her hug. "It's okay Izzy. I'll bring him home. I promise." With my free hand I reach up to touch my sister's curly hair in a comforting gesture. The sound of a gunshot rang out through my phone again. Izzy tensed up and looked at the screen of my phone which had yet to dim out. Was this going to be the last time either of us heard from our brother? "I have to go Izzy. Call the cops and tell them there's gunshots at the docks. Tell them it's like a gang war or something." The younger girl nods her head as she lets me go. She vanishes down the hall towards her room in a swirl of nightgown. I really hoped I wasn't listening to my brother's final moments.

I race down the stairs of the house snatching my keys off the counter as I head to the front door. "I'm here. I'm here. I'm not hurt." Issac whispers into the phone. I can hear the rattle of metal from the phone as I get into the car. "Okay. Where in the docks are you?" I pepper my younger brother with questions as I speed down the back roads towards the only docks the city had. How many people were after him? Where was his friend? Did he know how many people had guns? Did he know where they were? He was at the docks that lined the Columbia River. The shipping yard housed nearly anything that could and would be shipped out along the coast and even things that would be shipped across the Pacific Ocean. The damn area was nearly two miles of fenced off river front that had warehouses, cargo containers, ship repair areas and other crap that was needed for boats and what not.

Ten minutes of speeding down back roads had me running stop signs and red lights. I felt like a badass in my old Ford truck, I should do this more often. I pull up to a side fence of the dock. The main entrance was about a quarter mile down on my left. It had a stupid guard at the gate anyway. I was going to climb the fence to get to my brother. A real plan for dealing with the possibility of twenty armed punks, however, was lacking. I just had the notion that I needed my brother more than anything else in the world. There was no way I was going to leave him hanging. The idea of telling Dad 'hey, so I know I'm the oldest and what not, but I kind of let a gang kill Issac because I was scared' was blasphemy, a cardinal sin virtually. That grizzled Army bastard of a dad was scarier than any idiot with a gun.

I park my Ford as close to the fence as I can get and clamber onto the roof of the old beat up truck. The metal of the roof creaked and groaned under the weight of my body. I let out a breath. "Okay Issac, I'm going to put you in my pocket now, okay? I have to climb over the fence." I whisper into the phone and hear the shaky almost tear choked voice of my sibling making a noise back to let me know he heard me. He was hiding out in the warehouse district of the docks where shipping containers were laid out in a huge cluster fucker. There were rows and columns, but none of them were even or spaced in any particular pattern. It was a damn maze over there.

I could see the area farther off to my right the perimeter was lit up by what seemed like flood lights letting me see the blues and greens of the metal containers even at a distance. Company names spray painted across their sides and doors, however, were illegible. From where I stand on the roof of my truck I hear the faint pop of a gun. Damn it! I look up at the top of the fence and grimace. The top of the fence was covered in two rows of razor wire like this was some twisted SAW movie. The damn wires were going to shred me regardless of how careful I was or wasn't. I take off my heavy Carhartt jacket and throw it over the portion of wire closest to me. I take a deep breath and shift my feet to a balanced position. Pushing off the top of the truck I land with my torso on the razor wire. Carhartt jackets were thick, but razor wire was sharp and my body weight was helping the razors make my jacket into swiss cheese. I felt the edges of the razors sinking into my stomach and hands as I put my weight against them all the more. I swing first one leg and then the other onto the razor wire. It immediately snags my pants and starts to shred them like they don't even exist. I shift my hands and feel the razors dig into my palms before I throw my weight towards the other side of the fence from whence I'd scrambled up. Immediately my pants snag and I feel the painful way the razors slice into my legs. Thrashing causes the wires to shred my pants and I fall unceremoniously into a heap on the ground.

I lay on the ground winded and gasping. Maybe I should have found a different way in? Of course I think of that shit NOW that I was cut the hell up and bloody. I get to my feet and orient myself to the land scape. Open flat land on either side. There were a couple of yards of grass all the way around the fencing, but everything else as far as the eye could see was a wasteland of cement. Trucks, vans, random equipment I didn't have names for it was neatly parked in rows near the warehouses in front of me. The left still had the main entrance, security headquarters and admin buildings. The right was the cargo bins where Issac was supposed to be. "Issac, I'm over the fence. Can you come to the outside area of the cargo stuff?" I ask as I sprint across the open ground. There are some more gunshots heard both with my own ears and through my phone. Why were those assholes shooting? Were they trying to scare Issac out of hiding? I don't get an answer from Issac making my blood run cold. I can hear his breathing though so it provides a small amount of comfort to know that my brother is still alive… for now. The closer I get to the container maze I start hearing people shout at each other. "Where is that little shit!?" and "I'll skin him alive!" I duck behind a crane support looking around for the voices. Two white guys are loitering near the first row of the cargo bins that are stacked about five high.

"That little fucker thought he could cheat us." I hear one of them hiss to the other. Cheat them? What the hell had Issac's friend dragged him into? A drug trade? From the sound of it that's exactly what had happened. I dart from the crane to a stack of pallets. "Issac, where are you?" I ask into the phone softly. "I'm… I'm… I'm hiding in one of the containers." Well, that narrowed it down to… all of them. "Do you know which one?"

"No." My brother's voice cracks and I hear him sniffle. "What can you see outside of your hidey hole?"

"The river."

"How far is the river from you?"

"It's not that far… two maybe three rows of crates?"

"You do know that when we get home I'm kicking your ass." I mumble to myself as I take in the scene of the two idiots. The two white guys were still standing around bitching. One was short with a shaved head and a tank top on. His buddy was taller and had his long hair tied back into a braid. I didn't recognize either of them from this angle. I turn to look the other way; someone was walking with a flash light. Security? "Hey! You idiots brought the cops down on this place!" The guard shouted in a pissy voice as his walkie-talkie warbled some kind of noise from his shoulder. He was a tall limber black man with a sour expression on his face. "Oh, fuck you Tyler." The white guy with a bald head snaps at the guard. "No, fuck YOU. My partner is stalling them but you better find that little shit before they storm this place. I don't need the extra fucking paperwork to fill out because you trusted some little idiot with your drugs and they're missing." Tyler waves his flash light menacingly at the two of them and storms past.

Of course the stupid gang had a stupid guard on their stupid fucking pay roll. I pinch the bridge of my nose as I feel a headache building from the stress. The two white guys go back to bitching and I look back to my right. That area was clear for the moment plus tweedle dee and tweedle dumb were too busy bickering like a married couple to pay attention to me. I make a break for the nearest container, a large hulking thing of metal painted a bland green. Shadows engulf the walkways between the towering stacks of metal despite the flood light like ambiance just a few feet away. I hold still in the shadows looking over my shoulder. The tweedles were still occupied with themselves. With that knowledge comforting me a little bit I start to inch forward through the rows of shipping containers.

I stop at each intersection of containers and peeked in every direction. The farther in I went the more I could hear the signs of others prowling the darkness too. Snuffling, the sound of a gun being shifted from side to side, coughing and even a sneeze gave me a general idea of people nearby. The sickly sweet scent of a Swisher clung to the air causing my nose to itch. It had this fruity scent that was laced through with the skunky smell of weed. At least I knew one of the idiots was busy getting high. I peeked around the corner again spotting the smoker. Their back was turned to me, but in the patch of darkness where they loitered I could make out the dim glow of the Swisher cherry. Each inhale caused the cherry to glow a little brighter before it would dim as they exhaled. "Ehhh, Rocky!" I freeze as a Latino man comes around the corner closest to the weed smoker.

"Yeah?" The voice is female catching my attention, but not nearly as much as the machine gun the man holds so casually in his hands. "You seen that twerp yet?"

"Nah, I ain't seen shit."

"Course you ain't." The man snatches the Swisher from Rocky and takes a drag. "You's too busy getting high." His voice has gone nasally as though he's trying not to breath while he talks. I start to turn around looking for another way around the pair. "We took care of the first punk, Ricky, yeah?"

"Yeah, he's at the bottom of the river." The woman replies so casually, so coldly. She doesn't care that she's killed someone or been part of the group that killed Ricky. I feel the daggers of fear sink into my chest. They'd killed Issac's friend. What the fuck was I doing here? These people were going to do the same thing to me if they found me. The sound of their conversation becomes distant as they walk towards my right, away from me.

"Enyo," my blue tooth carries the sound of my brother's voice into my ears. "Yeah, Issac?" My voice is low as I stalk through the crates. "I'm scared." You don't say!? I wanted to laugh from the stress. Why hadn't he thought this out? I take a deep breath to give myself a moment to think. Being snarky and sarcastic to my brother at a moment like this wasn't going to help either of us. "I know, I am too," the response probably isn't what Issac wanted to hear because there is a long pause before he speaks again.

"But, you, you came all the way out here for me."

"Yeah, I did."

"That makes you brave, Enyo."

"You're my brother, what was I supposed to do, let you get beat up?" Brave? No my sweet little brother, this stunt made me a raging idiot. I had no gun; I was in a shipping area full of containers with about 20 or so other people skulking around with guns. It only took one wrong move before I'd end up dead long before the cops ever got past that shit head at the front gate.

I stop at another intersection of crates. "Enyo, if we, if we don't make it out. I want you to know that I love you."

"Shut up. Don't talk like that. We're gonna get out of this mess together." I felt a muscle in my jaw tick from how tightly I gritted my teeth. "No, seriously, I love you. You're the best sister ever." Issac insists around his sniffling. He'd been crying. My heart twisted in my chest. I was the only one allowed to make my siblings cry. These assholes were going to get such an ass beating the next time I saw them without their damn guns. I'm going to weld them to the support beams of the next build I help on. Or maybe I'll weld them into a coffin and send them to the bottom of the river like they did Ricky. The ideas of revenge swirl in my head helping me stave off the anxiety and fear of what I was doing. I knew I wasn't always the smartest girl in the world, but you'd think that by the time I hit 23 I'd be smart enough not to run head long into gang disputes. Nope. Still full of hot air and shit.

I pick up the pace as I find my way to the fourth row of containers. Issac was around here somewhere. I was three or so containers away from the river. I stood in the middle of the cross section and looked in either direction of where I stood. The rows seemingly went on forever. "Issac, I need a sign to know where you are." My Bluetooth carries to me the shaky exhale of my younger brother. "Enyo, I'm sorry." Sorry? Why was he sorry? The screeching sound of metal grinding on metal signals the opening of a container door. The sea salt had done a number on the hinges of that monstrosity. Twenty or so feet away stands my little brother. He's just not alone like I expected him to be.


End file.
